Warhammer: Empire Reboot

They either accept the absurdly low success rate of mechanical modification, or embrace the subspace and become a chaotic monstrosity with eight tentacles and three heads.

Two paths: one with a high probability of death, and the other worse than death.

Lawson felt a toothache.

He still has absolutely no clue how to become stronger!

"You want me to continuously improve my strength..."

Lawson curled his lip. Could it be that he, a Catachan who had to rely on his monstrous muscles to withstand the recoil when firing a bomb gun, could actually kill his way up to surpass the Primarch by going on a killing spree of Orks? Surpass the Emperor? Khorne would think he was a madman if he saw his thoughts.

"never mind."

Lawson shook his head, banishing these unattainable thoughts from his mind.

The current limit of 1 people is not a limitation for him at all.

He doesn't even have the resources to build ten people right now, so worrying about the bottleneck after ten thousand people is just needless anxiety.

"The most important task right now is to survive in this damn iron coffin."

In an instant, his perspective shifted, as if a surveillance screen had been sliced ​​open in his mind.

He saw the scene where Number 1 was located.

Number 1 is busily working among the first few compartments, like a tireless resource-gathering machine.

Lawson watched helplessly as Number 1 walked to a heavy metal explosion-proof door that had been half melted by the plasma.

That door weighs at least half a ton.

Number 1 gripped the edge of the door crack with both hands, his muscles instantly bulging. The moment the door panel detached from its original position and was lifted up by Number 1's hands, a notification immediately popped up on Lawson's system panel:

[Absorbed large quantities of scrap metal; purification complete.]

[Steel reserves: +0.3 cubic meters.]

"Well done," Lawson thought to himself.

In just over ten minutes, Number 1 had swept through three abandoned maintenance bays like a bulldozer.

He removed the rusty drive shaft, the discarded power armor plates, and the heavy reactor shell fragments.

The steel reserve figures on the Rosen panel were fluctuating rapidly, soon approaching 2 cubic meters.

Chapter 5 Guerrilla Warfare in a Derelict Space Ship

Besides the scrap metal, No. 1 also found some more valuable items.

He found a bunch of random weapon parts under a pile of smashed Imperial control consoles.

Several blunt steel short knives, and a tactical goggles that were half broken.

What pleased Lawson the most was that Number 1 found a standard MG short-barreled Astragalus laser gun next to a corpse that had been gnawed down to half a skeleton. He also found three usable charged magazines in a blood-stained ammunition pouch nearby, with a capacity of about sixty or seventy rounds.

Although this weapon, called a "flashlight," is far less powerful than the Locke-style bomb gun in Lawson's hand, it is still fatal to unarmored green-skinned elves, or to the orc boy's vulnerable eyes and throat.

For Number 1, who is currently unarmed, having a gun is much better than fighting the Greenskin's heavy machete with only a short knife.

He had to take action.

He only has one loyal follower now, so he can't just be a carefree, hands-off manager no matter what.

Moreover, from a physical standpoint, there is no safe zone inside this derelict spaceship.

In every shadowy hut may lurk hordes of greenskins, around every corner may lie a den of gene-stealers, and even in the depths of those ancient ships may slumber some unspeakable warp demon.

He quickly moved along the passage, and following the coordinates in the consciousness communication, he soon met up with Number 1 at a crossroads on Deck 76.

Number 1 immediately handed over the laser gun and the spare magazine.

Lawson waved his hand and pushed the laser gun back: "You keep it and use it to provide cover fire. I'll use the bomb gun."

They immediately got to work, using whatever materials were available to set up all sorts of deadly traps at the intersection and in the surrounding passageways.

The true jungle warriors of Katachon possess a deadliest weapon: a mind honed by the brutal trials of a death planet, and the ability to transform any environment into a killing field.

Lawson had used up all the booby traps and high-explosive grenades he had brought with him when dealing with those orc kids, and they were now out of chemical explosives.

But this didn't deter them.

They had to make do with what they had on hand, using the complex structure inside the derelict spaceship to design some mechanical traps that relied on gravity and potential energy.

"See that row of spare condenser tube racks hanging overhead? The kind with broken, pointed ends."

Lawson pointed to more than a dozen rusty steel pipes fixed to the load-bearing beam six meters in the air.

Number 1 immediately climbed up like a nimble ape, forcefully loosening several huge bolts that fixed the pipe rack, leaving only one point of force.

Below, Lawson used the monofilament rope he had retrieved to tightly wrap around the crucial load-bearing buckle, then pulled the other end of the rope all the way through the gap in the ventilation duct and into the ceiling cavity.

If the rope is pulled sharply at the perfect moment, the lock will disengage, and the row of heavy steel pipes with sharp, spear-like ends will crash down like a torrential rain under the force of gravity.

The oldest rockfall trap in the Katachan jungle has been rebuilt with a steel exterior.

But that wasn't enough. On the other side of the passage, Number 1 had collected a large pile of sharp metal fragments with jagged edges.

Using several broken high-voltage cables that were still leaking a weak current, Lawson made a simple catapult winch device from the fragments and hid it behind a half-open isolation door.

"Boom...boom...boom..."

"Waaaaagh!!!"

"Find it! Find that damned shrimp! Tear out his guts!"

"I smell blood! Over there!"

The commotion Lawson made on Deck 77 was so great that it attracted all the nearby Greenskin tribes.

Judging from the dense footsteps and the rising and falling battle cries, the number of green-skinned creatures charging forward is definitely not dozens, but hundreds!

Lawson would never be foolish enough to stand in an empty corridor and fight against hundreds of berserk orcs.

Previously, a full eight thousand heavily armed Astrakhan commandos died on this wrecked ship.

This indicates that the number of green-skinned people on this wrecked ship is an absolutely despairing astronomical figure.

"withdraw!"

Lawson made a decisive decision.

The Qatari people believe in the highest efficiency of survival and killing; guerrilla warfare is the way to go.

The intricate network of ventilation ducts and maintenance compartments inside the derelict spaceship, stretching like a spider web to every corner, provided them with the perfect opportunity to put their skills to use.

Lawson looked up and locked onto a vent in the corner of the ceiling, where the grille was half-rotted.

He grabbed the edge of the pipe with both hands, unleashing his powerful arm strength, and flipped himself inside.

Number 1 followed closely behind and crawled into the pipe. Before entering, he used a rag to quickly sweep up the footprints left on the site with great professionalism, and then took the main trap trigger rope handed to him by Lawson.

In less than twenty seconds, a blinding green tide surged into the intersection below.

Those running at the forefront are always the sycophants who are used as cannon fodder and scouts.

They screamed as the massive orc boy behind them kicked them roughly forward with his bare feet.

"Get out of my way, you idiot! Don't block my way!"

A young orc wielded a rusty machete and smashed the back of the blade onto the head of a slow-moving elf, knocking the little green-skin unconscious.

The green-skinned group, crammed together, pushed and shoved each other to get space in the passageway.

Just then, the five fart demons running at the front rushed chaotically into the trap killing zone in the very center.

"There's fresh green blood ahead! It must be this way! Charge!"

Number 1, lurking in the shadows of the ventilation duct, suddenly yanked the rope in his hand.

The moment the load-bearing latch was violently pulled out, more than a dozen heavy and sharp steel pipes fell simultaneously from the six-meter-high ceiling.

"Clang... Clang clang clang!"

The loud clang of metal striking metal made the entire cabin tremble.

Dust, rust, and green blood mist rose simultaneously, obscuring most of the view below.

After the dust settled down a bit, the five fart demons were no longer recognizable.

Driven by the terrifying acceleration of gravity, those dozen or so steel pipes were like giant siege crossbow bolts.

One of the steel pipes, with the most tricky angle of incidence, pierced through the two leading bastards at an almost vertical angle, pinning them firmly to the metal plate on the ground, forming a breathtaking green meat skewer.

The three farting demons next to them were also pierced and crushed by the other falling steel pipes, their noisy lives ending in various miserable ways.

[Life Points +1]

[Life Points +1]

[Life Points +1]

[Life Points +1]

[Life Points +1]

Taking advantage of the chaos, Lawson and Number 1 simultaneously fired from their hiding places at the orc boy they had locked onto.

They were too close, and they had locked onto the location beforehand.

Every shot is a headshot!

System notifications popped up one after another, indicating that the soul energy of the three orc boys, after being purified, provided Lawson with a considerable amount of life points.

Chapter 6 Love at the Corner

The three orc boys were killed before they could even react.

Lawson and Number 1 maintained a constant communication.

【continue!】